


Lake House Exit

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: M/M, Preklok, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: After dying for Dethklok, Charles needs time to come to terms with some things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted: March 10-17, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Non-italics; pre-Dethklok. _Italics: between seasons 2 and 3._  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.

If there was one thing Charles liked to have in an unpleasant situation, it was an exit strategy. While still in college, he would suffer spending his summer breaks in his parents' house if and only if he had his own private place to hole up in when he needed to, and when his internship at the law firm allowed. His parents, aware both of this and what his chosen extracurricular activities (fencing, martial arts, and debate society) made him capable of, had loaned him the keys to their otherwise seldom used vacation home.    
  
The drive there was long but soothing, barring any stop-and-go traffic. By the time he arrived, most of whatever he'd needed to get away from was out of sight, out of mind.   
  
He walked in through the grand front door and took in the tiled foyer, sweeping staircase with the beautifully carved wooden banisters, and wide picture windows with a calm, satisfied air. He walked straight ahead, weekend suitcase in hand, past the staircase towards the best view: a big bay window that overlooked the shore and his family's dock, and the natural grandeur of the lake beyond.    
  
It was cool inside the house in spite of the heat of summer. Charles set his suitcase down, slid onto the window seat, and stared out across the lake feeling still and peaceful. It was a good feeling.    
  
A long weekend would be just the vacation he needed. And with the late morning sun glittering on the surface of the water, he decided that now would be the best time to take a walk and maybe a swim on the way back to cool off.   
  
~   
  
_ Charles' eyesight was blurry. There'd been no time to replace his broken glasses and his extra pair had been lost in the ruin of Mordhaus. Someone had given him contacts before he’d left the Church of the Black Klok, but he didn’t like wearing them. It wasn’t important that he see very well right now anyway. Not while he was still recovering. The lake house had been standing empty for years, left to him in his father’s will, but at least he wouldn't have to see it slouching into disrepair and rot. _ __  
__  
_ For the next phase of his recovery, this would be home base. _ __  
__  
_ The front doors creaked inwards easily enough when he pushed. From the undisturbed layer of dust and dead leaves on the tiles inside it was clear that no one had been inside recently, but the lock was definitely busted and one of the doors wobbled slightly on its hinges as he pushed them closed again. Sighing, he dropped his bags in the dust and made his way slowly past the staircase, ignoring the broken balusters jutting out at odd angles from beneath the railing. All the furniture he could see was shrouded in plastic sheeting, like a congregation of ghosts. Only fitting, he thought, seeing as he was the Dead Man.  _ __  
__  
_ He heaved himself into the window seat, wincing as an old shard of glass bit into his hand. Some of the panes had probably been broken by weather, some maybe by local kids fucking around and throwing rocks. The sharp fragment hadn't gone in deep, he noted as he flicked it away. Not that it would have troubled him much either way; he was already on plenty of painkillers and had an entire box of fresh bandages in one of his bags just inside the door.  _ __  
__  
_ Staring out the ruined window, he felt the warm, humid breeze of summer twilight slip in and touch the raw, tender skin of his face. The view hadn't changed much in the years since his last visit, as far as he could tell.  _ __  
__  
_ He took a deep breath, so deep it hurt his lungs. The taste of the air was as familiar as the view. He had loved this place once, loved it for the escape it was before other things had edged it completely out of his mind. Coming back now, in the state he was in and bearing witness to the effects of time and neglect, hurt him almost as much as his injuries. He wished… Oh, hell. He wished Nathan could be there with him. Of all the people who could be there to help him through this, that was who he instinctively wanted. _ __  
__  
_ But that was impossible, especially right now. _ __  
  
~   
  
The afternoon sky was clear and bright, but there were clouds in the distance, dark and ominous, so Charles brought an umbrella just in case. It was the Eagle Scout in him, he supposed. Along with the umbrella, he tucked two bottles of water and a handful of granola bars into a small hiking pack, then set off.   
  
He didn't follow the lake, exactly. His favorite trail — more like an overgrown footpath, but he could still find it easily — curved almost parallel to the shore. In some places the water was right there, while in others it was completely out of sight behind the trees. It was his favorite partly because it didn't cross through the nearby camping ground and partly because it dead-ended at a secluded rocky outcropping that jutted out over the lake like a natural diving board.   
  
It should have been a solitary walk. All the other houses along the lake were in the other direction and this trail was hard to get to from the camping grounds. But less than half an hour after setting out there was a large crash of protesting bushes and tree branches, and a person plowed out onto the narrow path and straight into him. Charles only barely managed to keep his feet; instead of falling he ended up backed up hard against a tree, the body that had so unceremoniously collided with his scrambling to disengage.   
  
The person was a young man barely more than a boy. He was big, built like a football player, but his face looked young and very embarrassed.    
  
"Fuck," the intruder said. Old enough for a fairly deep voice, Charles noticed. "Sorry, I'm kind of, uh…"   
  
"Lost," Charles finished dryly, stepping clear and brushing himself off. (There were leaves in his hair. Good lord, what would his father say if he caught him in the woods with a strange boy and leaves in his hair?) "So I gathered. This is private property, you know."   
  
Sort of. The trail head was on the lake house property and that was the only man-made way into it. Except for what haphazard way had just been cleared by… the intruder. Charles couldn't bring himself to seriously think of anyone so many inches taller than him as a 'boy.'    
  
"What's your name?"   
  
"…Nathan." Nathan had been trying to hide his flushed face behind his long dark hair, which still had bits of twigs and leaves stuck in it from his crashing journey through the underbrush, but peered out briefly as he spoke. "I'm supposed to be camping with my dad, but I, uh, got lost."   
  
Charles noticed that Nathan looked away at the point of hesitation. Maybe he'd had a fight with his dad and gotten lost sort of on purpose. Well, Charles could certainly understand that. Whatever it was, the young man seemed in no hurry to go.    
  
"I'm Charles. Would you like to walk up the path a bit? There's a rock we can sit on, and it's more in the shade than here."   
  
Nathan nodded gratefully. The sun had reached its zenith and was glaring down through the thin cover of leaves, lending an infernal heat to the humid air. As they walked, Nathan pulled a crumpled bag of beef jerky out of his jeans pocket and gamely but silently offered to share. Charles accepted, then passed him a water bottle.    
  
They walked further down the trail in silence, but not in an unfriendly way. It was just too warm for Charles to want to push for conversation and Nathan's default state seemed to be brooding silence. As they sat companionably on a rock in the shade by the side of the path, making a lunch of Nathan’s beef jerky and granola bars from Charles’ pack, they drifted in and out of an unhurried chat.    
  
From what Charles had gathered, Nathan  __ was a football player. His dad wanted him to play on a college team and eventually go pro, but Nathan had his heart set on quitting school and making his living as a death metal musician. No compromises.    
  
“You’ve got the right look for it,” Charles remarked. He reached out and delicately removed a chunk of foliage from his companion’s hair. “And I hear image is important in that scene, so... Good luck.” He flicked the leaves away with one graceful, fluid motion. “There were a few times I might have dropped out of college myself, but if I did anything that drastic I think my father might actually hire someone to kill me.” A small smirk crossed his face. “Like that would even work.”   
  
Nathan shot him a grateful, slightly awed look, and muttered, “Brutal.” It seemed that he was far more used to being told that his dream was stupid, laughable, or any number of other discouraging things.    
  
“Do you know where you want to go?” Charles asked practically, and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his leg when Nathan admitted that he hadn’t planned that far yet. “I have a few friends who’ve gone into the music industry. I’ve given it some thought myself, but, ah...” He shrugged. “My academic advisor says I have too many majors and that I’ve changed them so many times by now that I must be insane. Sometimes I’m tempted to tell him that insanity would make a good fourth.”   
  
“Sounds like a lot of work,” Nathan muttered.   
  
“It is, but I like having something to do. Anyway, I know people who know people, if you’re interested.”   
  
Nathan blinked. “Oh! Seriously? Uh, thanks.” He half raised his bottle of water to his lips, then paused and amended, “Thanks, Charles.”   
  
“Not that I, ah, offer help to just anyone who comes crashing into me out of nowhere,” Charles said, suddenly remembering this key fact. Nathan was a stranger and a big guy, and maybe it would be best to remain a little aloof around someone so potentially physically threatening. He took in the muscular arms and broad chest that was well defined through a form-fitting black t-shirt, worn and snugly fitting dark blue jeans... Then he shifted his gaze to watch the young man’s face. On one hand, he was curious about the guy. On the other, he did need something to keep from getting bored this weekend. “That is, if you’re, ah, interested.”   
  
“YEAH!” Nathan practically jumped up with enthusiasm to further punctuate the word. “I’ve got some song ideas written down and stuff and I can sing, but I need a new band, the one I used to be in pretty much sucked. Do you know any good guitar players? And a drummer, gotta have a really fucking good drummer. Yeah. Fuck, this is awesome!” He clapped Charles so hard on the shoulder that Charles almost toppled over. If he had, he mused, momentum would have sent him crashing into Nathan’s chest for the second time that day. He was starting to feel like he wouldn't mind, though.    
  
But he found Nathan’s single-minded and kind of oblivious eagerness rather endearing. It was refreshing, after all the time he’d spent around unimaginative assholes who couldn’t look beyond their desks and the corporate ladder.    
  
“I think,” he said, with a small, reserved smile calculated to not give away his thoughts, “that I can be of some service, then.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the advantages to reworking this story after watching season four is that it turned out much better, in my opinion. Thanks a bundle to my friends Vicky, who caught all my dumb typos, and Sarah, who left delightfully insightful comments like, "That Nathan, he’s a go-getter, he gets what he wants. Sometimes he just doesn’t..totally…...think it through."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles doesn't believe in love at first sight. Nope. Not at all. No sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: March 10-17, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Non-italics; pre-Dethklok. _Italics: between seasons 2 and 3._  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_ Charles woke with a start, a muscle somewhere in his battered body spasming as though something hot had suddenly been jabbed in and twisted hard. The sudden movement made the rest of him hurt too, bringing tears to his eyes which he tried to avoid but couldn't keep from spilling.  _ __  
__  
_ He was in one of the first floor bedrooms — not the one he'd always slept in back in the day, but the only one he could make it to in this state — wrapped in the clean sheets and blankets he'd brought with him. Still alone, still physically broken. He'd given up so much, and now he'd let circumstances take him away from his boys. "Only for now," he murmured up at the ceiling. _ __  
__  
_ Unwrapping himself and climbing out of bed felt like hell. He'd stiffened up during the night while his medication slowly wore off, and every movement brought a fresh wave of pain lapping jaggedly over him, but at least he hadn't dreamed.  _ __  
__  
_ Time passed so fucking slowly. God it passed so slowly. He hated convalescence more than anything, more than receiving the injuries that had sent him here in the first place or seeing... what he'd seen. It meant that for the time being he was useless. Helpless, in so many ways. Without use meant there was nothing to do and nothing to occupy his mind.  _ __  
__  
_ He thought about Nathan often. Their first meeting, his offer to help before he’d even thought to find out if the young man he’d met by chance in the woods had enough talent to amount to anything. He thought contemptuously of his own blindness to what was being set into motion then. _ __  
__  
_ But there were other memories besides that first encounter, from before Nathan. The lake house held so many. A few secret parties he’d hosted, certain scenes he wished wouldn’t come back to him so vividly. If any of the boys ever found out what kind of person he’d been in high school and his undergrad years, before Nathan had met him, they would never take his rebukes of their bad behavior seriously again... _ __  
__  
_ If they could ever forgive his abandonment enough to even listen. _ __  
_  
_ __ Nathan had come the closest to witnessing his rebellious youth firsthand, and he hadn’t noticed or guessed all that he could have. That meant a great deal, in some obscure way, even though it was all water under the bridge.

__  
_ He wished he wouldn’t think of Nathan so often. It made the time pass so much more slowly and made sleep seem so much more inviting. He made his painful way into the kitchen, where the plumbing still miraculously worked, for a glass of water and the contents of a couple different pill bottles. Oblivion. For now, he just wanted to sleep and heal and not think. _ __  
  
~   
  
Charles showed Nathan the way back to the camping ground. Passing by the lake house on the way to the road and public trail, Nathan stopped and stared. His jaw even dropped, something Charles had only ever seen before in cartoons and sitcoms.    
  
“Are you... rich or something?” he asked, clearly awestruck.    
  
“Yes." Charles shrugged, playing it cool even though a pleased smile was trying to make its way to his face. "My father is a lawyer. I'm going to be a lawyer too.”   
  
“Oh.” Nathan looked at him, vaguely curious. “What’s your dad like?”   
  
“He’s... not very interesting.” Charles wondered cynically if Nathan was one of those rare people who, under most circumstances, were actually okay with their parents. “And also not here,” he added, pointedly.    
  
The point was... something. That he wasn’t a mere teenager, although his companion still was. That he’d never been much for camping, in spite of his years in the Scouts, but could handle a large house on his own without difficulty, thank you very much. That Nathan could come to visit any time he wanted and they would be untroubled by parental supervision. He didn’t know the guy very well, of course, but he’d seen just enough to decide that he really wouldn’t mind if Nathan did come over. Wouldn't be the first time he'd invited a guy over.    
  
Nathan grunted and glanced at him with hints of surprise and consideration. “I’ll be here all weekend,” he said slowly. “Like... if I apologize to my dad and shit. So if you call your friends and they can help me get a band together, I could, uh... come talk to you about it? I mean, you could tell me... stuff, and we could pal around.”   
  
Charles nodded coolly. “That sounds like a good plan. Will you remember how to get back here or should I meet you somewhere?”   
  
“I can remember.” There was a long, determined pause as Nathan looked around, as though he was trying to memorize everything right then and there. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.”   
  
_ He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he tries _ , Charles thought approvingly. That showed some native initiative, at least. Not a bad pet project. Not bad on the eyes, either. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow, then?” he suggested. “Between phone and internet, I’m sure I can get in touch with at least one person to get the ball rolling for you. I can’t make any promises, but maybe something will come of it.”   
  
“Uhhh... What time tomorrow?”   
  
“Any time you can conveniently get away from your dad.”   
  
They continued on, but by now the ominous clouds that had been far away before had crept up on them. The sky darkened and Charles automatically pulled out his umbrella. It wasn’t big enough to shelter both of them, he realized as Nathan tried to huddle in close under it with him. His chest bumped against Charles' shoulder and back, both of their shirts damp with sweat from the exercise and the thick heat of the day.    
  
"Sorry," Nathan mumbled. Not that he left the relative safety of beneath the umbrella as rain began to fall, but he made a vague effort at less physical contact.    
  
Charles, for his part, resisted the urge to lean back against him. "Don't, ah, worry about it."   
  
The comfortable silence, isolated by the surrounding pitter patter of rainfall, seemed to have an extra charge to it as he walked Nathan back to the campgrounds. Or was that just his imagination? Whatever it was, Charles was definitely looking forward to tomorrow. He even gave Nathan the umbrella when they parted ways, trudging back to the house in the rain while lost in thought.    
  
He'd come to the lake house for a break from his parents and work, but he hated being idle. This new project would be an interesting diversion, and not likely extend beyond this one weekend. So it wasn’t like he was getting himself into some huge commitment or anything... Plus, he wanted more time with Nathan. The young man was probably still a minor, probably not going to finish high school, but Charles sensed that deep down they actually had something in common. What that something was he wasn’t sure, exactly, but a few years age difference wasn’t going to scare him away from trying to find out.    
  
~   
  
_ Charles lasted almost a week before the inactivity got to him enough to forget all medical common sense, take a double dose of painkillers, get up and do something. Dead or not, this inactivity was driving him crazy.  _ __  
__  
_ The stairs were still beyond him, but he took the dust shrouds off of all the furniture on the ground floor. He prowled the house, hard-faced and silent. Around the scar on his cheek, the skin felt uncomfortably stretched, a constant reminder and its own brand of torture. Pain, when he felt it, didn’t bother him nearly as much as the memory of that helpless moment when he should have fought back, but couldn’t. When he should have been able to face down the terror of meeting the Half Man's gaze, but couldn't.  _ __  
__  
_ Couldn't forget all he had seen, unable to restrain the visceral surge of horror deep within himself. Helpless in the grasp of slowly passing time and his own relentless thoughts. _ __  
__  
_ He threw open any closed door he came across. Even that sound was dull, as if his whole head had been wrapped in bandages. All he found was more rooms with more ghostly shrouds, and all any of the closets had in them were a few stray hangers.  _ __  
__  
_ An empty umbrella stand caught his eye, and he sank into a chair to contemplate it through the haze of his nearsightedness.  _ __  
__  
_ Once, a long time ago, he had lent Nathan his umbrella. He could picture it vividly, even though it was a stupid thing to remember. And he’d offered him a lot more than he should have back then, too. He hadn’t known why at first, what it had meant, but something had always lingered in him after that fateful meeting. Charles hadn’t been Dethklok’s first manager, but he’d sure as hell stepped in as soon as he had all the right credentials, cutthroat and ready for music industry war. Even then, it had taken him a few more years to realize what drove him to do everything, pull every string he could to help propel Nathan and his band to the top.  _ __  
__  
_ “I don’t believe in love at first sight,” he reminded himself quietly. “I never did.”  _ __  
__  
_ Had it been that? Love sounded like such a stupid… unmetal word. He rubbed the heel of one hand back and forth over his mouth, aware that he had spoken out loud. Nathan would have judged him for that word, but it didn’t matter now. No one was around to hear.  _ __  
__  
_ “I should never have ended up working for someone I had a history with,” he muttered. So much could have been avoided... Maybe not for the boys, because it was destiny that they became what they now were, but maybe someone else could have shouldered the burden of shepherding them. Of being the Dead Man, of being stuck in this purgatory of dust and shrouds and broken glass, of pain pills and finding comfort only in dreamless sleep.  _ __  
__  
_ He sat there for a long time as shame and guilt washed over him for even thinking that.  _ __  
__  
_ “It was only one time,” he whispered. As if that made things any better.  _ __  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the seeds of Dethklok are planted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: March 10-17, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Non-italics; pre-Dethklok. _Italics: between seasons 2 and 3._  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The next day was gray and pouring, but that didn’t have much of an impact on Charles’ plans. He stayed inside, making calls, sending emails, and waiting for Nathan. His knowledge of metal music was basic but, according to a friend who would know, there was a promising guitarist between bands just then in LA, occasionally sharing a bar crawl with a famous (or was that infamous?) musician who would probably be up for anything as long as it was heavy enough. Charles was eager to pass on that information. If Nathan would just be able to prove he was any good, another friend in LA would pay for a plane ticket and take him on as a trial client.   
  
Charles was cashing in a major favor for this, but barely left himself time to think about it. He’d never been able to stand up and say  _ Fuck this _ outright, then do exactly what he wanted and nothing else; Nathan could. And he would. Charles would see to that. Everything would be set up perfectly, and at the very least he would be able to say to the world,  _ Fuck you, I  _ made _ this man. _ __  
  
Even so, he’d stretched the limits of what he could do without further input by noon and busied himself with lunch. He made sandwiches and made sure there was beer in the fridge in case Nathan wanted any. Sure he was underage, but what were friends for if not providing their underage friends with booze? Charles would keep an eye on him, it would be fine.    
  
Nathan didn’t make it in time for lunch. Was the rain keeping him away? No... Charles had given him the umbrella the day before. It shouldn’t be a problem.    
  
The stormy sky darkened even further as night crept up. To keep himself from pacing restlessly, he made the most elaborate dinner he had the provisions for: steaks from the freezer, potatoes from the pantry, and a nicely aged zinfandel from the wine cellar.    
  
Three hours later, there was a knock on the door and there was Nathan at last, huddling under the umbrella and still relatively dry from the knees up.   
  
“Did you find your way back alright?” Charles asked, quickly letting him inside.   
  
“Yeah. I mean, I got... a little lost, but mostly I had to wait until my dad fell totally asleep.” Nathan gave the umbrella back, fumbling a little with it, “I don’t, uh, sneak. Very well.”   
  
“Oh.” Of course it was something like that, he should have guessed. Charles shook his head at irritation towards the idea of parents in general. “Yes, I can... see that.” He repressed a small smile in spite of himself, and offered food. It turned out that Nathan was starving and didn’t care that dinner had to be reheated.    
  
Over their late meal, Charles found himself talking about… himself. Which he almost never did, and certainly never with someone he only expected to be around for approximately one weekend. He talked about the college he went to and his classmates, and the people at the premier law office where his father had gotten him an internship.    
  
When he finished, Nathan — who had been quietly absorbing all the information like a dark sponge — took an inexpertly large mouthful of wine, coughed, and said, “Wow. You really hate it, huh?”   
  
Charles blinked. “Not really. It’s just, ah, not always the most challenging.”   
  
“When you talk about it, you sound like you hate it,” Nathan told him bluntly. “Like when you talk about all those stuck-up jackoffs you go to school with. And all those stupid dildos at your job. Why do you do it? It sounds boring.”   
  
“I…” Charles knew he was staring, knew that there was a puzzled frown forming on his face, but he couldn’t help it. The younger man had just put his finger on exactly why he kept changing and juggling multiple majors, why he resented his father for shunting him out of the house and into a cubicle most weekdays every summer. He hadn’t expected that much perception from an aspiring high school dropout. “You’re right,” he admitted, "it is. The people are frustrating and the work is more or less the same thing every day. It’s not very interesting.”   
  
“So why do you even want to be a lawyer?”   
  
Chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his lip, Charles tried to decide whether or not to give an honest answer. He stalled for time by pouring them both more wine.    
  
“Power,” he said finally. It was honest, even if it didn’t make him sound like a very good person. He gestured at their surroundings — the kitchen with vaulted ceilings and skylights, recently remodeled and gleaming with top of the line fixtures and gadgets. “Money, influence, respect. That’s why my family has all this and can afford to send me to such a good law school in the first place.”   
  
Nathan considered this, then nodded. “Okay, I guess that’s a pretty good reason.”    
  
He picked at the remnants of food still on his plate and fell silent, but in a way Charles was beginning to recognize as the pause between sentences. Sometimes it seemed as though Nathan was weighing everything he wanted to say one word at a time, while at others he just blurted out whatever popped into his head without filter. Like earlier, when he’d caught sight of the family portrait over the mantle in the grand dining room and commented that Charles’ mom looked hot, but also like she had a stick up her ass about something.    
  
“That’s why I want a band,” the hulking teenager said eventually. “I have… shit to say, you know? And if the music is good, people will actually pay attention. ‘Cause of respect and shit."    
  
A slow grin spread across Charles’ face. “Well thought out. And that brings me to some good news..."   
  
He told Nathan about his contacts in the LA music industry, the musicians who might be receptive to the idea of teaming up, and someone to represent whatever band Nathan managed to put together.    
  
“And if you want, we can do a video call to the agent I talked to, show him what you can do.” Charles checked his watch. “It’s not too late in California, I bet I could still catch him before bed if you want to do that now.” He glanced up, took in the stunned look on Nathan’s face, and sheepishly tried to backpedal. “Or, ah, maybe tomorrow would be better.”   
  
“NO!” Nathen shouted. He jumped up, knocking against the kitchen table, and sloshing both of their wine over the edges of the glass and onto the white tablecloth. “Shit!” He grabbed his napkin and tried to wipe up the nearest spill, but only succeeded in knocking glass and the rest of the wine in it to the floor. “Shit, sorry…”   
  
“Don’t worry about it, really.” It was only a thousand dollar handmade tablecloth, or something like that, but if his mother was really that attached to it she could buy a new one. Charles helped him clean up and, at Nathan’s nervous insistence, load it into the washing machine down in the basement. That would definitely finish the job of ruining it. He would bury it out back later, hide the evidence. It was a bit of a nuisance but he found he didn’t mind all that much.    
  
~   
  
_ Charles wanted to go off the medication. The pain was bearable now, so he made himself do it. But the resulting trouble sleeping and the nightmares when he did nod off were difficult.  _ __  
__  
_ When he slept, he could see that outside the house there was a lake of fire. A man in red and white who had no eyes was at the door, knocking, always knocking, but otherwise silent; if he put an eye to the peephole the man showed him horrible things. Things he had seen, things he had been told by the Church, things that might happen next. He always woke up screaming and clawing at the air and sheets as if trying to dig his way out of something.  _ __  
__  
_ Awake, he never went near the front door. He was starting to talk to himself to fill the silence, pretending that his boys were with him. That Nathan — sometimes as young as when they had first met, sometimes older — was there to anchor him, because apparently the steady, unshakable part of himself hadn’t tagged along to this place.  _ __  
__  
_ It had always been Nathan. Nathan who had given him his first taste of destiny, all those years ago. Nathan who he had protected, died protecting, and now couldn’t protect.  _ __  
__  
_ He wanted desperately to leave, but couldn’t. It wasn’t time yet. _ __  
  
~   
  
“My god.” Nathan sat heavily on the couch, looking dazed. His voice was a little raspier than usual, but it was hard to tell if that was from his singing demonstration earlier or just shock. “Did that just fucking happen? Holy shit.”   
  
“You blew him right out of the water,” Charles assured him.  __ And me , he thought, but that was something to mull over later. “And now you have the next eight weeks to think about whether or not you really want to fly to LA, and finding someone there to look out for you... ah, financially, once you arrive, if you do decide to go for it.”   
  
Charles wasn’t sure what else to say — other than congratulations, and he’d already said that upwards of five times already — so he got up and poured them each another glass of wine. He handed over one of the glasses, watched it taken as though Nathan had absolutely no idea how to hold it properly, and thought sheepishly that the beer in the fridge might have been a better idea after all. Where had his usually impeccable knack for managing company gone all of the sudden?   
  
He still knew fuck all about metal music — aside from a list of sub genres he’d found and idly committed to memory while waiting for Nathan to arrive. He knew little about music in general, come to that, but even so he’d been able to recognize skill when he saw it. The younger man had brought an entire notebook crammed with messily scrawled lyrics, chord notations, rhythms... entire songs, basically. Every available surface on every page, even the margins, had been filled. And when he’d sung a few of them in a suddenly deeper, gravely rasp, there had been a kind of power in it. Charles knew deep in his bones that with musical accompaniment, Nathan was right. People would listen.    
  
“A toast,” he said bravely, trying to push down whatever kind of awe it was that had made his knees feel a little weak. “And good luck.”   
  
“Luck isn’t really metal, just so you know,” Nathan rumbled, sniffing at the wine. “But okay yeah, I’ll drink to that.”   



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan is probably the one who insisted they have a hot tub in the Mordhaus living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: March 10-17, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Non-italics; pre-Dethklok. _Italics: between seasons 2 and 3._  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_ Charles didn’t actually know how long he had been in the lake house or when he had lost track of time, but his injuries had healed. Healed enough, anyway. The skin of his face no longer felt raw to the touch of the breeze that rolled in off the lake.  _ __  
__  
_ “It’s time to go,” he explained distractedly to no one. “I have to get back, I have so much work to do. The Half Man...” _ __  
__  
_ But instead, he went upstairs for the first time since he had set foot in this dusty corpse of a house. His hand left gaps in the dust on the grand, broken banister.  _ __  
  
~   
  
"Whoa… I've been drunk before, but, uh. Whoa. That was… really fast."   
  
"Wine can have that effect on people." Charles was doing his best to support the young man beside him, and was constantly being caught against the wall for his troubles. Between the warmth of the wine and of Nathan's body, though, he didn't particularly mind.    
  
"I know that. I'm not complaining. I… You're a cool guy to give me stuff, you're a real decent guy, you know?"   
  
He was attempting to get Nathan to the front door and, against his better judgment, send him off. This didn't seem like the best idea, considering the state Nathan was in, but letting him stay and then having to worry about his dad tomorrow morning wasn't a great option either. At least it had stopped raining.    
  
A particularly violent stumble sent them veering into the banister just as they made it into the entryway. Charles latched onto it for help in keeping them both upright. This was a bad idea, he told himself reproachfully. Nathan was drunk, and all the water and coffee and toast Charles had forced down his throat hadn't made much of a difference. He'd only meant to celebrate a little, but it had gotten out of hand...   
  
Nathan chose that moment to belch, then peered curiously up the stairs. "What's up there?"   
  
"Rooms," Charles replied shortly. Nathan was kind of heavy.   
  
"How many? I wanna see."   
  
"Do you honestly think you're capable—" Charles began, but was interrupted when Nathan put a hand over his mouth. He felt his breath moistening both his lips and the palm cupped over them, and self-consciously started breathing through his nose. The smells of wine, coffee, and the particular scent of the young man leaning so heavily on him came strongly to his attention.    
  
For a moment, Nathan looked like he was going to say something… then fell back upon his customary silence. In this kind of situation, Charles thought, a guy like Nathan didn't have to talk. He had such a striking presence that he could easily get away with substituting action for words in most situations.    
  
So Nathan didn't say anything. He rubbed his hand over Charles' mouth a little, just a twitch. The skin of his palm moved smoothly over Charles' lips and Charles shivered, feeling caught. Was caught, actually, between the banister and Nathan's well-muscled bulk.    
  
He freed a hand of his own to move the younger man's away, meeting no particular resistance. Nathan watched him with slightly unfocused green eyes.   
  
"You are drunk," Charles informed him.    
  
"I've been drunk before," Nathan retorted, sounding more than a little defensive.    
  
"You already mentioned that." Charles hesitated. "If you, ah, really want to see the rest of the house… I guess a drunken tour is better than a drunken hike in the woods."   
  
Hoping that this would indeed give Nathan enough time to sober up before leaving, Charles got him upstairs. (For some reason, Nathan seemed to be walking a little better now that they were going up a curved incline rather than walking along a straight hallway.) There was a small library, a second living room with a more expansive view of the lake than anything downstairs could offer, more spare rooms, and the master bedroom. Far from beyond the touch of wine himself, Charles couldn't help but mention smugly that the master bathroom had a Jacuzzi tub, and Nathan insisted on seeing it.   
  
The master bed and bathrooms were the only two in the house, along with the kitchen, that really looked lived in, and that was because Charles was usually free to take them for himself whenever he was there. His monogrammed robe hung casually from the corner of the open bathroom door; Nathan batted at it, looked in at the big tub, and grinned through the black hair falling in his face.    
  
"Hey, let's try this fucker out!"   
  
By the time Charles realized that he meant the tub rather than the robe (which would have been weird enough), Nathan had stripped down to his underwear and was reaching for the tap. Water thundered into the tub and drowned Charles' protests that he didn't need to test it out as this was his bathroom. But somehow he ended up likewise stripped and in the tub as well, which was big enough to fit four people. They ended up sitting right next to each other anyway, just two bros chilling in a hot tub.   
  
In the impulsivity of it, and because Charles had only flicked on a light switch at random for a quick glance in, the room was lit by a single bulb in a blue glass fixture. The sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub echoed off the tiled floor and walls, adding to the sense of eeriness. Blue highlights gleamed on Nathan’s hair and face, and made his green eyes appear deep as the darkest ocean.    
  
Then Nathan found the button for the bubble jets and Charles yelped in surprise because he was practically right on top of one.   
  
"This is awesome," Nathan announced, laughing. The ends of his hair floated on top of the bubbling water as he slouched luxuriously against the side of the tub.  _ Yes _ , Charles thought, at the same time as he wondered,  _ What the hell is going on here?  _ Unconsciously, he licked his lips.    
  
He was pretty sure that Nathan wasn't intentionally hitting on him. Usually he was good at figuring that sort of thing out, but not tonight, not after so much wine.    
  
"How do you live like this?" Nathan continued. "You have all this cool shit… You know fucking everyone…"   
  
"I don't know everyone, just the right people," Charles corrected.    
  
Nathan shrugged carelessly. "Close enough. Fuck, man, you just made my  __ life . And that's awesome."   
  
Charles nodded, accepting the compliment with a rush of confused feeling.    
  
Then Nathan coughed and — and this was what did it — said, "You're, uh, a pretty awesome dude, you know?"   
  
It wasn't much of an invitation, but it was just enough. Aware of his actions as if from very far away, Charles leaned over, against that broad chest, and kissed him. He closed his eyes and felt the same adrenaline rush he'd had when Nathan had crashed into him on the trail the day before.    
  
When the kiss ended Nathan said, with wide, thoughtful eyes, "When I get famous, are people gonna start throwing themselves at me all the time?"   
  
"Maybe," Charles replied, not moving away. "I think it depends on if you let them. Famous people always have bodyguards to keep the people they don't want bothering them from… bothering them."   
  
Nathan touched one corner of Charles' mouth, as if he wasn't convinced he really knew what it was. "Well, yeah, of course I'd let them. The whole point of being famous is to get laid, right?"   
  
Charles resisted the urge to kiss his fingers, because that would just be ridiculous. He stood up instead, pulling Nathan with him. "Then…" His throat was so dry. He swallowed hard. "Let me? But not, ah, in here. In the bed. If… if you’re interested…"    
  
He stopped, feeling far too flustered for his own good, but Nathan nodded in easy agreement and let himself be toweled off, then led by both hands to the king-sized bed.    
  
A thought tugged at Charles' attention, but he pushed it away. Too late for that now. This had already begun. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What you won't admit to yourself... will just come back and bite you in the ass later on in life. Right, Charles?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted: March 10-17, 2011 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Non-italics; pre-Dethklok. _Italics: between seasons 2 and 3._  
>  Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> This is the part where Charles does it with a minor. _Naughty Charles._ If that squicks you out, just skim past the first non-italics bit.

_Charles stood in the door of the master bedroom and stared at the shrouded shape of the big bed. It looked as though even the mattress had been left there to molder for all these years. Beyond that, the bathroom door hung ajar and still in the stale, dusty air. It had all started in the woods, on that trail, but the part that remained seared in his memory had happened right here._

_He hadn’t needed to come here, he could have stayed at the Church, but if there was one thing Charles liked to have in an unpleasant situation, it was an exit strategy. And now he was afraid to leave. If he did, it would mean facing the boys, the prophecy, his own role in all this even though he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if he could…_

_But it had started here. He had never been very good at having friends, always too cold and calculating to really understand the human element. Like his father. Charles had always hated that, because it’s not like he’d ever had a chance to learn. He’d gone his entire childhood knowing exactly what he would grow up to be because he sat down at the dinner table with it every night: a powerful man. Someone who could charm well enough, make small talk if needed, but never really connect with anyone on a deeper level._

_Nathan had been the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend, and now he was supposed to go and lead him further into danger._

_He didn’t want to believe the prophecy, but he couldn’t just walk away. Not when it was Nathan who needed him for guidance, for all that they had never been more close than that one unexpected weekend. He was also terrified of failing him for that same reason._

~  
  
Too late to turn back. They were getting the bed damp, which Charles made a vague attempt to rectify by tugging his own boxers off. He hesitated about touching Nathan's underwear though — which was ridiculous because they were already making out practically naked, but for fucks sake he was still a _minor_. All of Charles' budding lawyer instincts were setting off alarm bells in his head that he could barely hear through the haze of wine and hormones and the jolts of electricity traveling between his lips and groin.

Nathan solved the problem by yanking his briefs down his thighs, pulling Charles to straddle his hips, and pressing Charles’ hand to his cock. That was consent, right? That was some pretty damn insistent consent. That was consent rutting against his palm and why the _hell_ was he still thinking about this?

“Fuck,” Nathan groaned, fisting a hand in Charles’ short hair. Then his eyes opened a crack to look at him, pupils so dilated that his irises were only thin emerald rings. “I’m not gay,” he added breathlessly. There was no pause in the rhythm of the younger man’s hips though, not even when Charles added his own cock to his grip.

“Me neither,” Charles replied, and returned to the kissing. And it wasn’t a lie, either; most of the time, he could go either way.

With his hand wrapped around both of them now and pre-come taking the place of the rapidly drying water, his entire body ached for release. Nathan’s hands were all over him, sliding over his thighs and ass and back with the inexpert fumbling of a teenager too horny to even think about being embarrassed. Technique hardly mattered at this point, though Charles knew a few tricks that made Nathan’s eyes roll back in his head and hands grip deliciously hard. He relished the fact that there would be bruises, that he would be marked by this… well, almost complete stranger.

This wasn’t the first time he’d taken an almost-stranger to bed, but wanting to have reminders of the act later on was new.

He didn’t think about it.

~ 

_After years of trying to ignore it, after dying, after a long and troubling convalescence, Charles finally let himself think about it._

_They hadn’t talked, after. He’d gotten a towel and cleaned them both up, and then they’d crawled under the covers and passed out. In the morning, Charles had been the first to wake up and realize that Nathan needed to hurry up and get back to his campsite… and that had been the end of it._

_They hadn’t talked, and what had scared him then was that he’d wanted to. Because he hadn’t realized what had started the moment they’d met, when Nathan had accidentally pinned him against that tree. Because he hadn’t noticed when he’d been in the midst of making decisions he wouldn’t normally make, going out of his way to help someone he’d only just met achieve an impossible dream. Because that chance encounter had ended up literally building a castle in the sky, where Nathan and the rest of the band were currently trying to figure all their shit out without him, and it broke his heart because there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be._

_And Charles might never know what that night had meant to the other man, or what, if anything, it meant now. It was too late to ask. Too late to admit out loud that he’d fallen in love with a boy in the woods over a decade ago. All he knew was that now he had to go back, play his part in the prophecy whether it was bullshit or not, do whatever he needed to do for Dethklok. For Nathan. Fuck being afraid of failure, if he never went back at all he would fail by default — and Charles Foster Offdensen was not a man who took failure lying down._

_He took one last room around the dusty master bedroom, where his fate as the Dead Man had been sealed all those years ago. Then he turned, went back downstairs, and packed his bags._

_It was time to go._

~  
  
Charles showed Nathan down to the door, reminded him of the way to the campground for the tenth time since they'd left the rumpled bed. It was an hour till dawn and he felt uneasy. Something about a look he had seen on Nathan's face a few hours ago, before they'd dozed off only to wake up later in a mild panic about how long they'd been asleep — just one expression, a dazed, perfect O.  
  
"Stop nagging," Nathan muttered, then pulled him closer with an arm around the waist and kissed him. "I can get there okay. Uh, we're leaving this afternoon as soon as we get the tent packed up and everything, but… you'll email, right?"  
  
"Yes," Charles said. _I don't know,_ he thought.  
  
With wolffish grin and a last quick kiss, Nathan was gone.  
  
~  
  
_The front door opened easily under Charles' hand. After all, the lock was still broken. He could have walked out at any time._  
  
_Just before he crossed the threshold, he looked back. At the staircase with its sweeping banister, at the broken window with the lonely window seat. At a choice he had made years ago to climb the stairs with a boy he had just met, and had subsequently tied his life to._  
_  
_ He had made Nathan Explosion, in a way — the greatest work he’d ever done in his life. And Nathan had made him who he was today — a man who paid excruciating attention to every detail, thought everything over carefully, and executed every decision with an iron will and the need to do right by his boys.

_Even when he fell short, proving himself unworthy._

_"I'm sorry," he offered. And then, "Dammit, I… I do love you."_  
  
_There had been years between the last email he’d sent and the next time they'd spoken. They'd never talked about any of it. He didn’t even know if it had meant to Nathan even a fraction of what it meant to him, or if the other man even remembered it after all these years. Maybe he would bring it up, after he returned. If the time was ever right._  
  
_Charles stepped outside and was gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you want to see a follow-up to this fic. Who knows, I might even write it! *cue cackling Facebones noises*


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